


John Watson Investigates

by Bluebellstar



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Greg is Done, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Mycroft attempts helpfulness, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, They're both oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24717379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebellstar/pseuds/Bluebellstar
Summary: Sherlock is acting strangely. John wants to know why.And they're in quarantine.That's the fic.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 133
Collections: Isolated Johnlock Collection





	John Watson Investigates

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this does actually fit in with the collection.
> 
> Unbeta'd.
> 
> Probably OOC.
> 
> Set in some mystical time where the Fall just never happened.
> 
> Also I'm rubbish at titles, so please forgive me.

It was day - oh sod it he'd lost count - of the coronavirus lockdown, and John Watson had officially had enough. He might have entered into this hell willingly, but by God some things had to change. Sherlock Holmes, the mad git he knew and not so secretly loved, had apparently had a personality transplant some time in the last few weeks. This new Sherlock, Pod-Sherlock as John liked to call him in the privacy of his own head - was helpful, kind, thoughtful, and attentive. When he wasn't experimenting with the newest sourdough bread recipe (a continuing competition with Mycroft that both John and Greg had agreed to stay out of for the good of their sanities), he was making John tea (it had taken him a week to stop surreptitiously sniffing it for toxins) or playing his favourite pieces on the violin. He smiled, and watched crap telly with John, he actually did the washing up, hell he even toned down the dangerousness of his experiments. And to make matters worse, he hadn't even uttered a single syllable about being bored stuck in quarantine.

Sherlock Holmes, not being bored at the inactivity - it did not make any sense.

For something this severe, John needed outside help. The smartest Sherlock-knowing minds of his acquaintance were at his finger tips - it would be downright irresponsible of him not to utilize their skills.

And so, John found himself feeling quite justified as he watched Sherlock sway into the bathroom for one of his now-typical hour-long baths. As soon as the faint sounds of (John's!) classical CD drifted from behind the closed door, John dived for his laptop and stabbed the buttons in his haste to connect to his waiting group call. Molly waved happily at him from her square, while Mrs Hudson flickered into view, and the entirely unnecessary two squares for Mycroft and Greg took their sweet time in appearing. John took a deep breath and blurted out everything that was 'wrong'. "...and now he's in the bath, so if you could quickly tell me what's going on, I'd appreciate it."

There was silence as the group digested John's rant. Mrs Hudson muttered something about the idiocy of her boys before going to make herself a cup of tea, leaving John to turn to the others for help. Not Mycroft though, he had slammed his laptop shut and was now taking a phonecall in the space visible behind Greg.

"So, Sherlock is acting like you have always told him to act, and you have a problem with that" Greg summarised, dark eyes flickering away, undoubtedly to share a significant look with Mycroft.

"It sounds sweet" Molly announced wistfully, cutting her gaze somewhere off to the side of her screen. John felt horrible for complaining when Molly was stuck on her own and would probably be so for some weeks to come. "Maybe he's just happy to be there with you" Molly suggested, not giving John any more time to wallow in his guilt.

"Sherlock isn't happy unless he's working a case" John pointed out, now turning to Greg for help. Greg, who understood about being quarantined with a Holmes brother. Mycroft took this opportunity to appear over Greg's shoulder.

"Precisely, Doctor Watson" the British Government agreed, a very Holmesian smirk on his lips. "So what can you deduce about his behaviour with that information?"

John sat back in his armchair and thought. The answer, when it came to him, was laughably obvious. "He has a case?" John pondered some more and frowned. "But there's no case files. He finished all the cold cases during the first three days. There's no activity on his blog. He can't have a case."

Gregm something apologetic to Mycroft, then leaned forward so his face dominated his square. "John, you know Sherlock the best out of all of us. How can you possibly be so oblivious?"

John did his famous expression of a goldfish. "I don't understand."

"You are his case, Doctor Watson" Mycroft announced, tone both silky and smug. "The case of how to make John Watson fall in love with him. Now stop being so obtuse and go put my brother out of his misery."

John continued to emulate a goldfish. "Pardon?"

"Sherlock. Case. You" Greg enunciated clearly. "He's been calling Myc at four o'clock every morning, moaning about how you still haven't realised that he's doing all this nice stuff for you. Because he loves you, you idiot." Greg paused to let John continue to gape gormlessly. "So, for the love of everything holy, would you go and snog that poor bastard? Because if I have to get woken up at arse o'clock again this morning, quarantine or no, I will drive over there and smack your heads together until you get the picture! And Mrs Hudson will help me!"

John blinked, spluttered to find words, only to look up and have his entire vocabulary taken away from him. A whole forty-five minutes early, Sherlock was finished with his bath. His still-wet curly hair dripped onto the silk of his purple shirt (the one that should be outlawed), but it was his expression that took John's breath away. He looked stricken, absolutely horrified, torn between fleeing and having the earth swallow him up. "John" he began, the deep bass of his voice rumbling throughout the room. Christ, even uncertain he was gorgeous. John didn't even need to glance at the audible smugness coming from his laptop to know that Greg was right.

"You mad git" he announced, heaving himself up off the chair. If he didn't know better, he'd say that Sherlock almost seemed to shrink at his approach. "You don't ever need to change your personality for me. You're bloody perfect the way you are." John took the final step closer, feeling Sherlock's shaky breaths. "Some genius you are, not deducing the obvious" John smirked, stepping back with his arms slightly raised. Come on, his body language said, deduce me. Sherlock blinked, taking an aborted step forward. "Oh sod it" John said. He leaned forward and kissed his brilliant, oblivious genius.

When he was asked, three weeks later (Sherlock strolling about in just his dressing gown finally ranting about being "bored, bored, bored"!), John only had one thing to say. He bloody loved quarantine!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
